


Becoming the Rose

by Raunchel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ambition, Arranged Marriage, Assassination, Betrayal, Canon Era, Espionage, Ethical Dilemmas, F/F, Family, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, House Tyrell, Intrigue, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Misogyny, Moral Ambiguity, Originally Posted on AH.com, POV First Person, POV Lesbian Character, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Poison, Politics, Psychological Trauma, Psychology, Religious Fanaticism, Romance, Scheming, Self-Insert, Sexual Content, Sibling Love, Tournaments, War, War Of The Five Kings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raunchel/pseuds/Raunchel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I, a modern girl, a scientist, a lesbian and normal person, find myself waking up in the body of Margaery Tyrell at the morning of her first wedding. Struggling against the strict limitations of my position, I try to survive and find a secure place in life, while struggling with the realities of Westeros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up

I hate mondays. Every monday morning is the same, I wake up far too slowly, usually not even noticing my alarms. Yes, alarms, I have several set up throughout my bedroom to force myself to get up. Strangely enough, I don't hear any of them now. But still, opening my eyes would be too great a challenge.

I can remember last night, I had been reading, some of those fantasy books that I feel ashamed of, even if they are insanely popular. I really like those, and this actually was my third time going through that tower of books, and the series isn't even finished yet, if it ever will be. I had a dream about it, but it's really unclear what it was exactly.

I open my eyes and now I know that something is wrong. My bed is just a cheap double one, and not one of those fancy ones with curtains. But my girlfriend also doesn't have something like that. Immediately I feel worried, trying to recall if I by any chance did anything strange last night to end up somewhere else. I really don't want that. I don't want to lose my girlfriend over a one night stand with someone I don't even remember. I really don't know.

I rub my eyes, which feels wrong. I don't have such cheekbones. I let my fingers slide over the rest of my face, and then I feel it. Curls. I never had the slightest curl in my hair, and there is no one lying with me. Briefly I wonder if it could be a wig, from some party where I got far too drunk, but the hair starts right at my skin.

There is only one way to solve this. I pull the sheets aside, and see myself. This is really wrong. Not least because I always was a bit flatter than this. What has happened to me? Am I even me? Why can I see everything clearly without my glasses? I don't know but this has to be a dream, and not one that I like. But as far as I recall, I never really did think all that much in my dreams.

I try to figure out what has happened when I hear a voice: "Milady? Are you awake?"

Who on earth calls me that? Except as a joke perhaps. Not sounding like that. Somehow I know the voice, it belongs to Mona, who I remember to be a maid. My maid, according to my mind. That is odd, I'm not someone with a maid, apart from that one time. But why do I recall all this? I don't know anyone with that name, even if she has been with me for years, apparently.

The curtains are pulled open, and I see the young woman, just like in my memory. I briefly forget about the sheets, but as soon as I remember, I pull them up again, feeling ashamed. "Milady, I'm very sorry, but you must get dressed for your wedding."

A wedding? What sort of rubish is that? I'm not going to get married, especially if I don't know the bride. Is this a joke? If so, I am going to kill my friends. But only after figuring out how they did it. I mumble that I need a few more moments when Mona suddenly pulls my sheets away, right from my hands. I blush as I try to cover myself with my hands. I'm not overly prudish, but I don't know this woman, even if I do know her. It's just too confusing.

"Milady, there is no need to hide yourself. Especially from me, I've seen you grow into the woman that you are now. And you are beautiful, there is no need to worry if your husband will have you."

Husband? As in, a man? No. That's not going to happen. I've had enough of this, more than enough. This is no joke anymore. "No.", I state.

"How do you mean milady?", she looks confused, which confuses me in turn. Something gnaws at me. What if this is not a joke? What if this is somehow real?

" No", I persist. "I am not going to get married. Not today. Not ever."

I see the colour drain from her face. "B-but, milady, your father promised it. And your brother too. And you always wanted this, since you was little, to be the queen."

Of course I wanted to be a queen, but not with a king. No, with another queen, who would of course be beautiful. But that always was one of those fantasies, just like receiving a Hogwarts letter or being a powerful vampire. The things everyone fantasises about. And what does my dad have to do with me being married? I know, he would be there, just like the rest of the family, but then again, he doesn't decide for me. Not even in his church.

This has to be the most vivid dream I ever had, and I'm some sort of medieval princess. I want to wake up from this nightmare, but of course, I don't. I remain here, with some strange yet known woman looking at me. I sigh. It doesn't look like I have any effect on her with my words.

I say nothing, but Mona continues: "Your bath is ready milady."

That sounds tempting, I have always loved baths despite not having one in my current house. And my parents never let me really bathe. But my ex did, when she wasn't there I sometimes just sat there, with a book in the warm water. At least this dream has some good parts.

Slowly I get up, feeling dizzy. Somehow I am shorter than I used to be. I am in a castle of sorts, just like I expected. The stone walls are covered in tapestries, covered in flowery patterns. They are really nice, but Mona drags me by the hand, through an open door, into the presence of a pair of other women, who are also familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

And I see something else, a mirror, right there at the wall. It doesn't look good, worse than the cheap mirror on my wardrobe, which is odd. I had expected a princess to have something a lot better. I mean, I am a princess right?

I step forwards, blushing so hard that I think that the whole castle might catch fire. I'm just not used to being naked between several fully dressed strangers. I walk slowly towards the bath, still looking at the mirror. I see someone new, she is really pretty, with long brown curls, a round face, and a body to kill for. I blink, and she does the same. It strikes me, this is me, and I know the face. I know it all too well. "I am Margaery Tyrell!"


	2. Wedding Bells

It seems as though my surprised cry has been taken as a statement of confidence, and I can finally get into the hot water. Even in my terrible circumstances it still feels good, and it gives me some time to think. There are a few things that I know about this setting, having actually written some really crappy fanfic about it. But then I remember something else, there is a book and a series, and I can remember quite a few flame wars over differences between them. And of course, I quit watching eventually, because of some of the horrible things that were shown.

And that means that there are at least two possible 'verses that I can be in, not counting the untold fanfics, timelines and the like. And of course, I could be in another world entirely, that just so happens to contain a Margaery Tyrell, with exactly the same face as she has in the series. I guess that my best option right now is to wait until I find out.

And of course, there is my current predicament, which is far more important. If my memory serves me well, Margaery got married at least three times, but I might of course have missed something there. I even remember the three husbands, Renly, Tommen and the name I don't even dare to think, Joffrey. All of them are horrible, even just because I don't want to be married. But Joffrey is the worst by far. I might be able to work around the others. But if it's him, I'm going to do one good deed before killing myself. But I guess that I'll end up doing that anyway, I don't exactly recall this place as a nice one. Not for people in general, and certainly not for a girl.

My thinking comes to a sudden halt when I hear a woman, again a voice that is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. "Sweetling!"

I turn my head to face a tall woman with long silver hair. My mother, or so my memory tells me. "How do you feel? Exciting isn't it? I can remember the day that I married your father like yesterday. You look worried, I understand that, it's the biggest day of a lady's life. But show them your smile, please, everything will be just fine."

I realize that I might look rather dumb, but then again, all this is rather new. How do I even call her? I don't recall anything from either the books or the show, but then again, I don't think that she really featured at all. And my strangely messed-up memory also fails to come to save me. I remember who people are, and things that I shared with them, somehow, but not how "I" thought about them, or what is relevant now, talked to them or at all. But I have to say something.

"I'm just nervous", I say with a trembling voice. I put it very lightly, I'm more scared than I've ever been. This is by far worse than my old issues. If this is real that is. It can't be, but everything seems very real.

"Of course you are, sweetling, but everything will be just fine. And if you don't like him, no one forces you to spend your days together. And you might be lucky, to come to love each other in time.", she put an arm on my shoulder, "Just don't listen to that grandmother of yours, she hasn't had a happy thought in her head since she was born."

"But, what if I don't?", I ask with a weak voice.

"Then you simply remind yourself that you will be the queen, and you will have lovely children to dote on!", she seemed genuinely happy, reminding me of how happy my mother was atmy sister's wedding.

I gather all the little courage that is somehow left scattered somewhere in me and ask: "Do you know anything about him?"

"You should ask your brother, like you've been doing these last few days. But he seems to me to be a good man. I know the rumours, but people will say anything to smear others. Lloras wouldn't ever do such a thing. But you know that."

"Yes mother", I say, greatly relieved. It almost has to be Renly, perhaps I can talk to him. I really hope so.

Through all this I hardly noticed that the servants were washing me. But now I did. It was nice, even more relaxing than a normal bath. Perhaps that was why I hadn't simply run away screaming. That, and the simple fact that I was, or might still be, too shocked to act.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I am dressed, in gold and green, two colours that I never liked all that much, and when I see myself in the mirror, I do feel like a bit of an idiot. Of course, the colours fit me a bit better now, but still, I always hated that. And to make things worse, I'm wearing an elaborate gown. Throughout my childhood I always wore skirts and dresses, but this is different. This is almost impossible to wear. I truly prefer jeans and a T-shirt, but I guess that they don't have them here, especially not for a lady.

I am accompanied not only by my 'mother', but by ever more ladies, most of whom I somehow know. They are related to me, cousins and the like, and aunts. But most importantly, amongst all of them an old woman I have been looking out for. My 'grandmother', who I always found very entertaining to read about, or to watch on the screen. The barb in her words was just too much fun not to like. But now, now that this seems somehow real, I don't look forwards to speaking with her, as a matter of fact, I am quite afraid.

I have been thinking a little while being dressed, about how I should act. I figured that there are two possibilities, either this is real, or this is not real. And there are two ways to act, as though all this is real, or like it isn't. If this is real, and I act as if it is real, I can try to get all this to work out. If it is real, and I act as though it is not, then I'm an idiot in their eyes, and I get into a lot of trouble I don't want. I don't want to experience what these medieval idiots would call therapy. So, if this is real, I should act as though it is real, which isn't much of a conclusion really. Most sane people do that every day. But if the world isn't real, well, I can again act as though it is real, but that doesn't make a difference. And if I act as though it isn't real, it doesn't really give me an advantage either. So, I concluded that I should tell myself that this is real, and that I am seriously screwed. I know that I shouldn't think so much about things, but it might be one of the little side effects of being a scientist.

I know the way, somehow, it must be this strange set of memories again. I remember so many things that I never knew before, but it is still difficult to deal with all this. If only I had been a bigger nerd, and actually memorized the books or something like that. Then I might really know something. Unless this is the show-verse, then I'm in trouble because I haven't even watched all of the episodes. I am led to an enormous structure, which looks like a church, so I suppose that it must be a sept. There are banners everywhere, and people watching. I feel even more relieved, I'm not in a city, where Margaery married Joffrey. So, this must be Highgarden, which my memory informs me to be correct.

I enter the building, it is truly beautiful, reminding me of a chapel in Paris I visited once, the old royal chapel but I forgot the name. I'm really bad with them. Light falls through large panes of stained glass, and if it was another occasion, I would stop to admire the sight. But I can't, I have my role to play. And that isn't that of a tourist, I don't even have a camera with me. Or The Luggage. I would love to have that with me, especially here. I smile to myself, and immediately notice some relief on the faces of those around me. I guess that I didn't look all that happy before.

At the entrance, I am met by a rather overweight man who I recognize as my father, lord Mace Tyrell. To be honest, he looks like someone to laugh at, not to be respected. Which fits with what I know about him. He takes my limp hand. I always found the whole tradition of a bride being led like that rather stupid, but now I know why it is, on my own I wouldn't have been capable of walking there. And of course, this has the added 'advantage' that the bride can't bail out and run away.

The ladies who surrounded me disperse through the crowd, most of them going to the front. Only when all of them have reached their positions, does the fat man start walking, and I walk with him. My hand is sweaty, and it is becoming difficult to see, as little bits of blackness appear at the edge of my vision, I try to breathe, but I feel bound.

Somehow, I force myself to keep smiling, even though my chest hurts from the thundering beats of my heart. I don't think that anyone can hear it over the tolling bells, but that doesn't matter. I walk through the crowd, accompanied by these ladies. I see at least dozens of sigils, but there might also be a hundred. My mind tells me who they are, it must be a major part of education here, because I wouldn't even know half that many flags.

In the front of it all I can make out a priest of some kind, septon Arys, apparently. But he is hard to notice next to a tall black-haired man, who even I notice to be handsome. And I don't even care for men. I see that he briefly looks at me, but it seems as though he has more eye for someone much closer to him.

As I near the front of the crowd, I see who it is, my brother Loras. He looks just like he does in the series, giving credence to the idea that this is in fact the series, and not the books. But then again, it is a convention that I've noticed in almost all stories about such things, especially with Sean Bean meeting other Sean Beans, for some reason.

I also recognize my brothers, and all my other relatives along with some of the greatest lords and ladies of the Reach. And still I continue, led on by the man I know to be an idiot, towards the man I'm supposed to marry. At least she won't try anything, or so I hope.

Finally I reach the raised dais, where the tall man and the priest are waiting. Mace lets go of my hand, and I take the final steps on my own. I don't really remember how such things go here, but I guess that it will be similar to what happens on Earth, only in another kind of building with another kind of judgmental old man presiding over everything.

He, who I guess to be Renly, puts a cloak over my shoulders, causing me to remember that that was indeed something in the books. Immediately thereafter, the septon takes my right hand, and I see that Renly had already raised his left. I guess that I forgot to do something important there. The septon takes a jeweled ribbon and starts to tie it around our hands, and for the first time I touch the man who I am being forced to marry. It will be the last time, even if it means having to stick a knife into him.

"Let it be known that Margaery Tyrell and Renly Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.", he said, while taking the ribbon away again. It all seems like a foolish ritual, but then again, aren't all rituals odd when viewed from elsewhere. I guess that it is over now, and I don't have to pledge anything. Of course not, it's not like these people marry for love or anything, or as if they think that women can even say sensible things.


	3. A Feast for Roses

Immediately after the ceremony, where everyone was applauding for some reason, the whole party heads to what must be the great hall, dragging me with them along with Renly. I can understand why many follow him, he really looks like a king, even though he doesn't wear a crown. That's peculiar, but I guess that he hasn't yet been crowned. But of course, it takes some time to prepare a crown.

I find myself seated at the high table, between Renly and my fat father. There is a cup in front of me, filled with wine. It is a lot, and normally that would make me very happy, especially because there are people everywhere to refill the cups. But I don't want to get drunk, or even tipsy. I have to stay clear or I'll mess everything up. 

At a balcony musicians start playing, and if I'm honest, it sounds like the stuff you would expect at a LARP event. I look out over the hall, there are hundreds of guests, at least, and I fear that I will need to speak to all of them. But first, first I look at the high table. Of course, my dear old grandmother is there, right between my parents. To my mother's left is my middle brother, Garlan, along with his wife. On the other side, next to Renly is Wilas, my oldest brother who walks with a cane, followed by the last of my brothers, Loras. And next to them, my uncle Garth, who seems to be a bit further away from the rest of us.

It appears that there is a custom of the bride and groom sharing a cup, and Renly brings it to my lips. I of course take only a little sip, but I must admit that this is easily the best wine I ever had. Of course, most of my wine experiences were with rather cheap ones, and I guess that the lords of the richest lands in the whole kingdom would know a thing or two about procuring wine for the wedding of their only daughter. 

I return the gesture to my bearded husband, and he drinks consiferably more than a little sip. I hadn't expected him to drink much, but he is the brother of Bobby B for a reason. He should be dead already I think, and Renly can get crowned at any moment when it strikes me, this is the perfect moment for such a thing. There are nobles from all over the Reach, and my father seems to be nervous. Of coarse he would want his daughter married first, to be certain, and then the coronation. People were already talking about it, even servants. So it must come very soon. 

I have to do something. If this happens, chances are that Renly dies, and there might be talk of a Lannister alliance, with everything that implicates. But what can I do? I briefly look at my sides, there probably already is an agreement between the two men there. Everyone knows that Mace wants me on the throne, and then his grandchildren. I might be able to play off that angle with him, but not with Renly. And of course, I remember nothing about all that. My mind races, at a point I even consider just telling them, but then they would just laugh. 

"Ehm, my lord husband", I start, knowing that I sound very nervous and to my ears at least, stupid."

"Please, call me Renly, we are married now.", he replies, looking away from my brother. As though he wasn't already my brother in-law without the official parts.

"I, ehm, was thinking, it must be strange for you, to have lost a brother and your cousins, making you the new heir to the Iron Throne.", yes, I sound stupid.

He speaks softly: " Not at all, and soon enough you will be my queen."

"But how about your other brother?", I ask.

"What of him? He is a bitter man who has no joy, and gives no joy. He won't stand in my way."

"He has the law on his side. And that makes it much easier to control certain men. I fear that the realm will be fractured, even more so than it already is.", I try, "and it is better to rule seven than less."

"No one cares for the law, but you are still young, so you haven't yet learned that truth. My brother took the throne by force of arms."

He is really starting to annoy me, if something like what happened to me happens to someone in a story people just listen. Or they beat some heads together. "And already armies are marching to contest it, while he isn't even cold in the ground. If the throne is again taken like that, in even more dubious circumstances."

"You worry too much, there is no match in all seven kingdoms for the might of my Stormlands and your Reach.", he replies, further getting onto my nerves. He just doesn't listen.

I stare ahead, having given up on talking to Renly for now. There are other more important things that I have to arrange first, and I can’t antagonize him too much. Not while I don’t have something, anything, to control him. He deserves getting killed by some shadow baby, but there is the one huge issue that comes to the fore again. Joffrey. I’d rather be stuck with a living idiot than have a chance at coming too close to that messed up idiot. Thanks, Martin, for writing such a world with such lovable characters. I feel the need for a drink, or more than a few really, but I can’t get drunk. That would really ruin everything.

My musings however get interrupted, by a lord, who my memories tell me to be lord Mathis Rowan. He stands in front of the high table, and declares: “My lord, my lady, it is my honour to present you this gift.”

Behind him, a pair of servants carries a large white cloth, which the lord pulls aside to reveal a set of lances, blunted ones, decorated with Tyrell green and Baratheon yellow. I don’t really know what to make of it, if it is a grand gift, or something small. Or anything like that. Renly however claps his hands: “Thank you, lord Mathis, this a truly a grand gift, made all the greater by the giver.”

One by one more lords, ladies and knights approach, all of them making gifts. Many of those are martial in nature, and of exceedingly little interest to me. But amongst the throngs I see people I have read about, people I wouldn’t forget. People such as lord Randyll Tarly. He is dressed relatively simply, but still his presence is frightening. Mostly the look in his eyes. It is piercing, and judging. I can understand how such a man treated his own son like he did. But he also shows a natural authority too, he is the kind of man people might follow. What is most striking to me however is that I had somehow imagined him to be a bit taller, he is below average in height, while I had expected someone tall. Which again shows me that I shouldn’t let my own preconceptions influence my plans and thinking. His gift wasn’t that strange or peculiar, a pair of riding saddles, one for me, and one for Renly.

Another more than familiar figure is someone I couldn’t even imagine dressed like she was. Brienne to Tarth, one of the many children of stormlords who had been sent instead of their lords. They probably didn’t want to leave their homes in these threatening times. Not while they know that they have armies to raise. Brienne in a dress almost made me snicker, she is beautiful in a way, but everything about her is martial, she should at least have been wearing trousers, and not a skirt. It just doesn’t fit. Renly was kind to her, I knew that he would be. He was friendly to everyone, even if some people can be seen sneering at some guests. And Brienne was one of those. I actually said something as well, thanking her for her gift of a hunting crossbow.

 

In between I take a few more small sips of wine, while Renly keeps drinking, he can keep it I guess. Finally I start to think that the procession might come closer to its end, mostly because the givers of gifts have become those who are closer to me. Such as my brother Garlan, who gives a cyvasse set made of jewel-encrusted ivory and jade. I don’t know the rules, not actively, but I guess that I should be able to learn them. Loras follows him, giving only a dagger, with a dragonbone hilt and scabbard. It is quite beautiful, but I know that it is not meant for me.

Finally, after all the others, my father stands up, and accompanied by my mother stands in front of us. Renly rises, and so do it. Mace looks completely full of himself, and he starts: “My lord Renly Baratheon. Your brother has been murdered, leaving no true-born children. Parts of the realm have risen, to gain wealth and power to themselves. That is why I have come before you, our one true king!”

I struggle to keep my mouth shut. I knew that he would crown Renly, but not yet, not now. This is lunacy! I however keep my silence, only shivering a little although no one notices. A servant holds out a platter, covered by a silk cloth, decorated with stags and roses. He pulls it away, revealing a crown. The base is a golden circle, decorated with golden roses which would surround the head, and in the front there is the head of a stag, with towering antlers. Mace lifts it from the platter, towards Renly who bows his head: “All hail His Grace, Renly of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!”

The crown is on his head now, and I see a true smile, truer than all others yet as cacophony erupts. Many cheer, although I also see many talking to their neighbours, the ones who didn’t know yet. Renly looks over the crowd, and moves his hands. Almost immediately everyone falls to silence. “I accept the burden of kingship, and pledge that any who uphold my rule will be rewarded, while those who fail to do so will be punished!”

He then turned to me, and I saw my mother holding him another platter, again covered in silk. The newly-crowned king took a second crown in his hands. It was smaller, and far more delicate. Again gold, of course, no one ever makes a crown of silver or anything like that. It is made of roses woven together, and if I am honest, looks like far finer craftsmanship than Renly’s, as though it has been prepared for ages. I bow my head, what else can I do, and I feel the weight placed upon it. Even if the crown looks light, it’s still very heavy, much more so than the ones of plastic I had as a child. Renly’s voice thundered: “And all hail her grace, Margaery Baratheon, your queen!”

So, I guess that I’m a queen now. It’s actually really easy, just like waking up. It’s just that I fear that it won’t last long, and that my king is an idiot. An idiot who somehow charms almost everyone here, but still. I look over the assembled people, all of them cheering. It reminds me of those pictures of the first days of the first world war, when everyone was cheering, even though many of those cheering men didn’t live for a year more, and certainly not with all their limbs attached.

I can’t really enjoy the moment, trying to find a solution for my problems. It’s just almost impossible to think, amongst these war-loving lords all shouting the loudest that they will kill/maim/whatever all of their king’s enemies on their own. I know that this is the moment that I should mumble something foreshadowing great slaughter or something like that, but nothing really comes to mind, and it would sound very weird among the festivities. 

The cup of wine looks at me seductively, but I force that away. For now I won’t become the greatest drunk of Westeros, leaving that title to a certain dwarf. And then it strikes me, he also isn’t someone to read about anymore, he is an enemy, just like all those others I read about. It causes me to shiver. Even if there is a solution to the whole Stannis-affair, I will have to find a way to survive the rest of them, the Lannisters, possibly the North, and then, what is beyond the Wall. Why couldn’t Martin have written a story where there is simply a great hero who beats up some sort of monster, and then everyone lives happily ever after? But no, I just end up in a crappy world, where human rights probably means something like cutting off only right arms instead of both. 

I look out over the crowd, which is calming down a little, some people are even sitting again. It is a true reminder that these people aren’t as chivalrous and noble as they claim to be. They are vicious barbarian warlords, with only a thin veneer of what passes for civilisation. And to think elsewhere the barbarians are even more barbaric. None of them would hesitate for a moment when it comes to murder, mutilation and rape. They live for it. It is their purpose. The only way to keep control over them is by force, force which my so-called family has.

I can’t trust anyone, not even them. They would use me, caring only for my value as a pawn, not for me as a person. They might pretend to, but in the end, there are no good people in all of Westeros, only some who pretend to be. Of course, some are worse than others, far worse even. The mere thought of some of them makes me shiver now that I live in the same world as they do. 

Someone catches my eye, looking at me with what could almost be seen as hatred. I look again, it is the hideous Brienne of Tarth. Of course she hates me, she is in love with the man I have been forced to marry, and would be jealous of that. I have to speak to her, I can’t have her as an enemy, and I at least have some clue of what she is like. She can be very useful. I might have gone to a LARP a few times, but that’s different. I don’t have any clue on how to use a weapon, and I might be even weaker now than I used to be. But she does, she is better with a sword than the vast majority of these murderers, and she can be trusted in a way. I just have to win her trust in some way.

I smile at the tall blonde, just like I smile at everyone I look at, I want them to feel like I care for them in person, I read that it can work to win at least some loyalty. Hopefully enough to not murder me, or worse. Finally the toasts die down, and the music starts up again, accompanied by singers. The music isn’t really to my taste, but then again, I don’t expect medieval people to start rocking. Servants walk everywhere, starting to deliver food. I don’t remember the planning, but I hear something about fifty courses. These people must burn a lot of calories, if they can eat that much. Even fifty small bites would be more than enough for me.

I look at what I was brought, it seems to be some sort of meat, three small blocks of red meat covered by yellow cheese. It almost makes me gag. I never eat meat, I haven’t done that for years now. If it was a later course, I might get away with claiming that I was full, but now, now I fear that I have to eat at least one. I look at the meat, imagining what sort of animal it would have been mere moments before, and of course, remembering all too well how bad red meat is for the heart and overall health. I look next to me, my father has already finished the plate, and Renly is taking a second piece already. 

Slowly I pick up a knife, stabbing it through the cheese and into the dead animal. I hate it, but I don’t see another way. Slowly I lift it to my mouth, catching my father’s eye. He seems to be looking at my plate, and I nod. Faster than one would expect from a man of his size, there is only one block of meat left, aside from the one that I am just tasting. The taste is surprisingly good, people here do know how to cook, but still it feels bad.

“Do you not enjoy the venison?”, Renly asks, seeing me eat slowly.

After swallowing, I reply: “It is not the taste, my, eh, your grace, but it feels odd to taste venison, when I have just wedded the stag.”

Several people start to laugh, as though this is anything but a bad attempt at escaping the situation. I want to be alone, in my bed, with a pile of chocolate and a nice movie. I look back at my plate, and notice that the final piece of meat is gone as well, and I meet my father’s smile. No wonder that he managed to put on so much weight, but that can be helpful for the rest of the feast.


	4. Dancing Queen

The music is starting to get on my nerves, I know that they don’t have anything better, but I know for sure that if I would wake up, and ever get into the position that I can marry a nice girl, there won’t be any of this pseudo-medieval crap. There is a reason why movies set in the period tend to use other music. And the singing, it’s just awful, especially now that these so-called lords and knights have had a fair bit of wine. They all roar along with what they think the song is, and the ever-increasing noise is starting to hurt my ears. 

And the food, the taste may be somewhat decent, but I’m afraid of how hygienic everything is. We’re not even halfway through the feast, and I already want to throw up. And everyone else just keeps eating, drinking and making noise. I have had maybe half a cup of wine, and know that I shouldn’t drink much more. Half of everything brought to me is eaten by Mace, who seemingly gets exactly as much as everyone else at this table. Something must have been messed up in the kitchen, I don’t think that it is the normal course of events, not with his hunger.

The way the table is set feels more like a show for the others than a proper arrangement. All of us face the whole hall, and conversations are awkward. Renly mostly speaks to my brothers, and Mace, well, he is mostly eating, and when he talks nothing important or all that sensible comes from his mouth. I would have loved, and feared, to talk to my grandmother, she might have some actual insights. I vaguely recall that my brothers also had more of a brain than my father, and they too might have made for some company. But no one cares for me, in the middle of a royal table, a crown on my head.

The crown isn’t nice to wear, it is starting to make my neck ache, and it’s really itchy, somehow. And I can’t just scratch, which might explain the unpleasant feeling. I try to keep smiling, but it gets harder and harder to maintain it, without turning to the seductive wine. It is more than excellent, but at the same time, it can kill me. I don’t want to be an alcoholic. Not yet at least. That can wait until I am a poor widow living in a fancy castle with lots of servants to do everything I command them. If that was at all possible. But alas this world was designed with the sole purpose of being as terrible as possible to live in.

Suddenly I’m shaken from my thoughts: “Margaery, is something wrong?”

Renly has turned to me, away from my brothers. I look at him, trying to seem strong: “The day has been long, and I feel tired. The feast is loud, and I might have had a bit too much of the wine.”

He looks a little surprised: “You had only a little, or are you not used to it?”

Crap. I don’t know if I am used to drinking or not. I mean, I hardly even know how old I am, but from what I saw, I’m more a child than a woman. But then again, these people are medieval, and they tend to start drinking at an early age. I remember Arya not being allow to drink yet, but she is a fair bit younger than I am. “Drink does not agree well with me, I am only a woman.”

I hate myself for saying that, but in the past, even in the modern day an age, it is an excuse that has helped me. My family might have been a bit on the conservative side, but I would still guess that even they had more enlightened opinions than these barbarians. Unfortunately, this is a role that I have to play, I don’t want to end up locked away somewhere like a mad aunt. 

“Ah yes”, he looks suspiciously at me, as though he sees right through my lie. He shouldn’t, he is supposed to be the not-too-intelligent brother. But then again, it might all be an act, in order to be underestimated. “Ladies are not meant for drink, but rather for dance. Will you dance with me, your grace?”

The question stuns me, I know that I can’t refuse, but I have no clue how these people dance. I can’t remember anything from the book or the series. And to make things worse, I am a dreadful dancers, which is why the dance floor is the kind of place I avoid like the plague. 

“An excellent idea, your grace.”, Mace cuts in, “Margaery is an excellent dancer, and Loras tells me that you are well-versed in the art yourself.”

Renly smiles at my father, and stands up, taking my hand. I am forced to follow, afraid that my masquerade will simply collapse now. My father rises as well, and all the singing and music stops: “My lord and ladies!”, he announces, clapping his hands, “his grace and her grace wish to dance!”

Somehow, I am dancing, in the middle of a gigantic hall and surrounded by hundreds of highborn. Somehow, none of them are laughing at me. I feel light, but not as though I'm about to faint. I feel as though I can fly as I twirl around the tall man. This has to be a dream, I can't dance, I have absolutely no talent in that field.

But here I am, a dancing queen, basking in what feels like the admiration of these people. I don't merely hear the music, I feel it. I can't decide what to do, but somehow, somehow my body knows, and it follows the tune. Out of its own will. It feels wonderful to move like this, but at the same time, frightening. I have to let go, releasing my natural shyness into this dance. It is wrong, and I try to explain it. I don't do this consciously, it must almost be reflexive. And that in turn makes me wonder, where is Margaery? The person, not the body. It doesn't make sense, my personality, my memories, they are stored in the network of neurons that forms my brain. As far as I can tell, I still have all of them. I haven't forgotten more than I remember having forgotten. Or have I? Have I lost parts of my mind? Parts of me?

At the same time, I have new memories, new motor reflexes. Those that belonged to a person who no longer is. Not in this world at least. I don't notice any changes to who I am, and I know that I'm not Margaery Tyrell. I only have some of her knowledge. Has she gone into my old life? And how? I know that it doesn't really matter, but it must be the scientist in me. I want to know how whoever did this, did, well, this. On forums that I used to post on, there was a joke about Alien Space Bats doing it, so I might as well call this mysterious being ASB. Absolutely Shitty Bitch. I never asked for this. Not really at least.

Finally, the music stops and we come to a halt. Luckily the dancing is meant for unmarried girls as well as those who are married, so it isn't intimate, but that's only asmall consolation. Everyone starts applauding, and I look over the lords and ladies. They all look at me, or so it feels, and my heart starts to race. Somehow I survived, by the same reason that I could walk in this strange body, and I see my opportunity. I can call on everyone to dance, and then I can get a chance to talk to my grandmother. 

Only, I also feel my nerves. I know that I shouldn't be afraid, I've presented at larger conferences where my career depended on it. And at the time that really mattered to me. Right now it only means the ability to maybe talk to some people. This isn't even a long talk, but still the words refuse to come out.

I feel my hand in Renly's grasp, and I hate the feeling. I always hated being touched, especially by people I don't know. The mere idea of a husband is repulsive. Finally I have my nerves under some control, it feels like it has taken hours, but seemingly mere moments have passed. "My lords, my ladies, come. All should be happy, so dance!"

I feel like such an idiot. I am an idiot. But then they start to rise, not everyone, of course, but many of the younger ones, even if some of the men are visibly pulled from their seats by their beloved ladies. Some things never change, not even in another world in another time.

My mother approaches me, or rather us. She curtsies. My father of course remains seated, using the opportunity offered by his wife's abandoned plate. "Your grace", she says.

"My lady mother", Renly replies with a perfect smile, which is unsettling to me, "Would you grant me the honour of dancing with you?"

Soon enough, I find myself dancing again, now with my youngest brother. He is only a little taller than I am, but then again, he is more a boy than a man. He certainly is a good dancer, I guess that it runs in the family. Just as with my other brother, Garlan and his wife. Luckily Mace has decided to not join us. He isn't even as fat as I had expected, but well, in the modern day people are seriously obese. Here he however is amongst the heaviest. My oldest brother, Wilas, also remains seated, I saw him walk with a cane earlier, so that has a simple explanation. Loras seems to radiate happiness, and I think that I recall why. I however don't begin about it, I think that it is something that's not all that tolerated here. I will bring it up sometime later, in private. 

During the dancing, with several other partners as well, I struggle to remember more than the most basic things like their names and holdings, just the things you would find in a short description. I can't remember ever having met anyone, or any words that might have been exchanged. That's odd, and dangerous. I don't have a ready excuse when people hint at past events, and chances are that I also completely lack some of the skills expected of me. I have to find something for this, but I don't yet know what.

Finally I get a break, managing to break away from the dancing to sit down. Of course, I don't sit just anywhere. Renly is easy to spot, asking each of the ladies in turn. But I don't care, I care for this challenge.

"Is that lump of gold they put on your head so heavy that you have to come and sit with me already?"

Grandmothers are supposed to be these kindly old women who are always kind and understanding. That is the theory. Practice is different. But in my old life the one who was still alive at least was friendly, even if she had two teapots, one for herself, and one for her guests. The one for herself contained a surprisingly strange sort of tea. Only a few years ago I found out that it wasn't tea at all, but bourbon. 

What I'm trying to say is that there indeed is this ideal of a grandmother, and most are at least somewhat close to that. Not so with my new grandmother, lady Olenna Tyrell. She has the typical smell, and indeed looks old, but aside from that, there isn't much like that is grandmotherly about her. Just the way she looks around, disapprovingly, it's almost frightening. Especially because the looks are accompanied by an exceedingly sharp tongue, and now I've been stupid enough to make myself the target. 

"Or maybe I just want to sit after all this wine.", I reply. Immediately I know what I should have said, something about the band of gold still fitting around my head, or at least something vaguely witty, instead of that poor old excuse.

"Hmpf, you will learn to appreciate the wine now that you're married, it certainly let me survive talking to my husband, and my son.", she returns, at least she isn't going for me. Somehow I have to get the conversation to the important subjects.

"At least they", I start, but don't finish because of something I see, one of the knights, a Hightower, just grabs one of the servants by her breasts, and pulls her towards himself. I'm too shocked to react. Not only because of this clear and direct assault, but even more so because of the reactions. Most don't seem to notice it at all, and those closest to the scene are laughing instead of intervening. 

I know all too well that such things happen in the books, but not at what's supposed to be a party. And worst of all, it seems to be completely normal. I don't know what to do, if there is anything I can do to help her. The poor thing is released from the groping hands, and makes haste in leaving the scene as one of the knight's companions slaps her on the arse. I sit still, silently fuming. I don't know what to do, but those men will have to pay for this.

A sharp voice cuts me from my thoughts, leaving me with a confused look on my face. "Has the wine now taken your voice as well? Or merely your mind? Most drunks lose their mind first, and keep blabbering nonsense long before their tongue stops wagging."

Why doesn’t anyone do anything? These people call themselves knights. I really understand the Hound now, knighthood is one big lie. I knew that it was, but to see it is different. There just has to be something that I can do. But first this other thing. 

“I was just thinking about this being queen.”, is this how I’m supposed to talk? I should be careful with the words I choose. 

“And that makes you look like your lordly father?”, the biting retort comes immediately. Why didn’t she act like this to Margaery in the books or the show? The thing however is, I don’t like being spoken to like that.

“It makes me worry.”, I state, trying to show at least a little confidence, “Many of these men will not survive this year.”

That thought at least makes me a little happy, the less of these pigs there are the better. If only it was possible to put all the scum together to burn, separate from the decent ones. “That’s what men are for, they do the dying and fighting, and expect us to love them for it. If the realm were ruled only by women, there would be no wars.”

The statement almost makes me laugh, as though the likes of Cersei wouldn’t wage war. But the phrasing reminds me of something, and for a change, I might have a good retort: “No, instead there would be a whole bunch of houses not talking to each other.”

I might be mistaken here, but I think that I saw a hint of a smile there. I continue: “But alas, that is not the case, and the talking is done by sharpened pieces of metal instead of tongues. I however fear that someone might be overly rash, and the wrong people might be harmed.”

“Nonsense! That’s not the kind of thing to worry about now.”, the old woman replies as though she is scolding a child, “leave that sort of thing for tomorrow, now enjoy your wedding and make sure that you get a child inside you.”

Immediately I feel stupid. Of course I shouldn’t talk about such things in public, I should do it in a more secure place, where not everyone can and will listen to what we say. All my instincts tell me to do what I always do in such situations, leave, seek a silent lonely place and think. But I guess that that isn’t really an option now. 

The guests are becoming louder and louder, and I can hear men shouting for more wine, slurring like drunks tend to do. I can see Renly approaching the table again, throwing his smile everywhere. He looks like a king, I’ll have to give him that, even though I fear that he will squander it all soon enough. More food is delivered to the tables now that the king is returning, and I too return to my place, finding a small bird, covered in some sort of red sauce on my plate. It isn’t just a piece of meat, no, it actually is in the shape of the animal. 

I look at it, trying to force myself to cut into it with the knife. But I won’t. Not to such an innocent little animal. A knight however would be a vastly different story. Luckily, I don’t get into the situation to do either, as Renly remains standing, looking out over the so-called nobility. He moved his hands, and somehow, all of them fell silent. I have never seen anyone being able to do that with a group of drunk barbarians, or any sort of drunk people at all. 

“My lords, my ladies. I thank you all for attending my wedding, and for being here for the coronation. But there are still challenges on our path! There is a tyrant in King’s Landing, a puppet of the Lannisters. He is no king, he is a boy unfit to rule! We are men, knights and lords. We do not suffer injustice, just like my brother, Robert did not suffer the injustice of the Targaryens, and drove them before him. In the same way, I will not tolerate the injustice of the Lannisters, who seek only power for themselves. The call comes, the call of glory and honour! Chivalry demands it, I will march. I will defeat those who would stand against us, and I will bring honour and glory to the Realm! Will you stand with me? March with me? And fight with me to cover yourself in the glory that a true knight deserves? Join me, and all of Westeros will sing of your honour!”


	5. A wedding and a bedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter deals with sexual assault, and those who do not want to read such things might want to skip over it.

While he was speaking, I watched Renly. The words themselves might not have been all that inspiring, but his delivery was. The way he stands, the way he moves, how he uses his voice. While he spoke, men were cheering already, but now, now that no more words come out I'm almost done overwhelmed by the tidal wave of cheers and cries of agreement. They love it, they want to go to war to put their king on the throne. And by extension, to put me there as well.

King's Landing frightens me, it really is a wretched hive of scum and villainy. All of it centered around the Iron Throne. I take another sip of wine, and it still tastes exceedingly good and inviting. I make myself smile, something that comes much more easily than it ever did in my past. My real life. I can't be the wallflower anymore.

Renly of course smiles, it seems as though the smile is for me, but I know better than that. Everyone will have that feeling. I know that all this is a folly, but still I feel encouraged, and as though it is possible to take the throne. Of course I remember why he failed in the books, he was killed by sorcery. And no army can stop magic. It isn't as bad as in for instance D&D, but still, magic is very powerful in the right hands. My mood sinks again, the knowledge that I have is far from comforting. I want to be safe, and free. But that means that I have to find a way out of my whole mess. 

Another course is placed in front of me, a rose made of what seems to be sugar. Hesitantly I take a small bite, and it actually is good. Of course they don't have ice cream here, but I could really use some chocolate ice, a bucket full of it. For now however the sugary stuff will have to do. All around me, and throughout the whole hall people eat like animals. Somehow I hadn't really noticed before, absorbed in my own problems. They eat wit their hands, using their knife only to cut what they can't teat. They don't drink in measured sips, but pour the wine down their throats, spilling it all over themselves. And these are supposed to represent the sophisticated south. To themselves that might be the case, but to me they're all barbarians. 

Some of them have taken up what I assume to be singing. They sing like drunks tend to, without regard for melody, rhythm or even comprehensible words. I don't know many Westerosi songs, only two actively by name, and the lyrics and the like are utterly alien to me. I don't think that this would be the Rains of Castamere, we're not Lannisters. I also can't distinguish any word that sounds like bear, so it can't be that song either.

I try to listen to it, but someone distracts me. My father. He is beaming: "Margaery, your grace, how does your crown feel?"

The pride can almost be felt, his eyes twinkle and the skin seems to glow, but that could also be the wine. "Wonderful", I lie, "and soon the throne will be taken as well."

I won't say anything about my doubts anymore, it's not like there is a way back now. "And then you will have a few princes.", Mace continues, full of anticipation. 

The mere thought makes me sick. I'm not some sort of cattle, I'm a human being. There won't be any princes, none at all. And anyone who attempts anything, well, I am the queen. And I will, or at least, hope that I will arrange something with the king. "Of course, and one of them will bear your name."

I feel dirty just saying it, and for how easy all the lies come. I'm not a liar, I've never been one. Whenever I tried, I was found out immediately, until I came here. Father however notices nothing, and smiles even wider. I think that he wants to be honoured, he wants to feel important. "Oh? You will? Truly?"

"Of course, you are my father, and I love my family."

The fat lord doesn't say anything more as he takes one of the filled mushrooms that have been placed before me. I again smile, of course. I'm completely stuffed already, and I didn't even eat much. I tried to keep track of the courses, but I fear that I miscounted somewhere in between them. There just were so many. On my other side, Renly is again joking with my brothers, and I feel lost, so many guests, and no one at all to talk to.

Another course is served, some sort of foamy substance, cut into the shape of a stag. It again is sweet, but there is something like cinnamon as well. I didn't know that they have it here, but that's probably either my memory, or of course, me skipping over the descriptions of food sometimes. It's a strange substance, almost not solid at all, like edible air. I guess that it has a name, but my culinary expertise isn't all that great.

The sight of these people almost makes me sick, but I force myself to eat at least a little more. In a corner, I see a man throwing up, and when they walk, many are swaying. Some are shouting, but I can't hear what it is over all the noise. Others however seemingly do, and they do it with relish. I try to take another sip of wine when Renly releases the cup, but he has drained it completely. As soon as I put it down, a servant refills it. I reach for it, but so does Renly. He slightly slurs his words: "My lady love, will you not let your husband be drunk on the night of his own wedding?"

"Only once, but the wife has her desires as well.", I reply. Only then do I realise that he is in the process of getting himself drunk, and with luck, I could get him to pass out. Although I fear that for someone of his size that would take more than a little time. A thousand better lines go through my head, but as always it's too late to use them. Perhaps I should write down a list to memorize should certain things come up.

"What can a man do other than to satisfy his wife?", the king asks, inviting laughs from the other guests. He brings the cup to my mouth, and I take a brief sip before pushing it away, to him. Luckily it's not a contest of strength, because he would break my arms like twigs, and he quickly drains it, proving himself Robert's brother. I don't recall if Renly was a drinker in the books, but based on what I know, I guess that all this is difficult for him as well.

The shouts meanwhile are turning into a chant, and I can distinguish a single word over and over again. "bedding", my great fear. Luckily the servant is clever enough to refill our cup before the shouts are taken up by those closest to me as well. I don't really look at it, I slide my knife into the sleeve of my dress, if words fail, I will need something to back it up. And it certainly is sharp.

Everyone stands by now, surging forwards. I shiver, and almost jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up, it's my mother. She speaks into my ear: "Close your eyes and sing a happy song to yourself"

I don't really understand it, but I assume that it is the local version of 'Lie back and think of England', not something that I want at all. And then, without a further word she is gone. I look around, my brothers have moved away, along with my other close male relatives. The women gather around Renly and drag him to a side, away from me. For a few moments I sit all alone, feeling lost and frightened. I briefly notice the wedding cup, standing empty again, it almost makes me smile. 

But not for long. I see my doom approaching, the lords and knights, all of them barbarians. I am pulled from my seat, and into the air by these men. They make what must pass for jokes, while only being crude references to my body and how much they would enjoy being the king tonight. I hate them. Every last one of them. I feel helpless, I can't even resist, they're too strong for that and my knife remains in my sleeve. I can't reach it, someone holds my wrist. 

It is a strange experience, to be held aloft by a group of men. Then I feel something, other than the hands holding me aloft and the almost tangible smell of Alcohol. The pressure on me, which I stopped noticing hours ago, becomes notable again. It is lessening, and I feel a freedom from the far too tightly bound bodice. 

I realize what it means, and I haven't been more frightened in my life. I try to struggle, but I'm so weak. These men are killers, even the weak and pudgy of them still outmatch me easily. I can't even kick, the hands are too strong. I can feel the warm metal on my skin, completely useless. Fabric is tearing, I can hear it, and feel it. The comments grow worse and worse, and I can feel the first tears in my eyes. I hate them. I hate everyone. Fear grips me, like cold hands around my throat. I try to say something, but nothing comes out. Breathing is hard, difficult even. I breathe faster and faster while my heart rages. But it doesn't help at all. There is no strength in my limbs, none in any part of myself. I feel like I'm only watching, feeling and hearing. But I can't do anything.

The dress is torn away, and with it my useless weapon. I hate myself. I feel hands on my skin, I hear lewd comments, and I do nothing. Nothing at all. Why am I weak like this? I want to fight, I want to struggle, I want to hurt them. But I can’t. I want to gauge at eyes, spit in faces, bite hands, anything. Anything at all to resist. But I find myself powerless. I’m suffocating, I know it, even if nothing restricts my breath. Nothing physical. I have to scream, but no sound comes out. 

Hands touch me, on my bare skin, on places where I have only ever been touched by lovers. And these pigs grope, they laugh and they shout. They hardly seem like human beings anymore, more like monstrous beasts. I hate them almost as much as myself. Finally I am lowered to the ground, feeling ground below my feet again. I can’t stand, I fall, but not far, groping hands keep me up by an open door. Inside I can see a vision of horror, a naked, towering man. The hands push me inside, and while I fall there, I turn around. I see their faces, they are carved into my mind forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been the hardest chapter to write, because it deals with fears that I also have in real life. Weddings in Westeros are a terrible thing at a closer reading, and I try to reflect that. I hope that I have done some justice to the subject.


	6. Behind the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go again. I haven't updated in some time, because circumstances made updating rather difficult.

Behind me the door slams shut. I hear laughter, but the thick wood muffles it. I cover myself with my hands while looking through my tears. I've never before felt this weak and vulnerable. My only desire is to curl up and hide, away from the world, away from this horrible place. I want to cry in a secret corner, where no one can come near me. I have to do something, I have to say something. But no words come from my mouth. I stand shivering, looking for a hiding place. The room is familiar, the same one where I woke up this morning. I want to hide under the sheets, but can’t, it might be seen as in invitation.

The man approaches me. Everything about him is repulsive, and I take a step backwards, feeling the door in my back. I hear cries from behind me, all sorts of horrific suggestions. The man, who I now recognize as Renly, does not cover himself at all. His face a strange mix of feelings, confusion and determination. I don't dare to look down from the face, which also is something I would rather not see now. I want to see my girlfriend, to fall into her arms. To be safe. He steps towards me, slowly. A mere whisper passes my lips: "Please"

He is tall, I really notice it now and have to look up despite the shrinking distance between us. "What do you mean?", he slurs.

His question comes as a whisper, but stronger than mine. I find my voice back, and reply with less of a whimper but still whispering: "I, I don't want this."

He takes another step towards me, swaying slightly, I can’t go sideways, the door is sunk into the wall. There is nowhere I can go. My knees feel weak, and I slowly sink through them. 

“But the bedding...”, he starts, but I don’t let him finish: “Please, listen to me.”

He stops coming closer, it is hard to see his expression through my tears. I have to wipe them away, but I can’t. I need my hands elsewhere. “Then come, sit with me.”

The suggestion brings relief to me, especially when he takes a step backwards. “I won’t do, erm, anything, I promise.”

He turns around, towards the bed. The place that should be where I can relax, but which has become the place that I fear more than any other. Other than perhaps outside, with the braying mob. I remain at the door, incapable of movement. Renly bends, pulling at the sheets. My heart starts to beat faster again. My eyes dart around, looking for something, anything at all that can help me. But I see nothing. He turns back towards me, approaching while holding a sheet out to me. I snatch it from his hands, finally being able to cover myself. I whisper: “Thank you.”

He bows his head: “The pleasure is mine. But come now, away from those eavesdroppers?”

Finally his intention dawns on me, how could I have been that stupid. I follow this time, swaying on my feet. But not because I have had too much wine, like Renly clearly has. Breathing remains difficult, and the blackness returns on the sides. I can feel its pressure on my eyes. I stumble forwards, towards the bed where Renly has taken another sheet to partially cover himself. I almost fall forwards, but narrowly make it there, sitting as far away from the king as possible. “Now, what do you want to say?”

“I, eh”, when finally given the opportunity, I just don’t know what to say. “I don’t want to be touched. I can’t.”

He looks at me with surprise while I use a corner of the sheet to dry my eyes. “How do you mean?”

“I”, I start, my mind racing to find a way to put this. If I remember things correctly, medieval societies didn’t even recognize that lesbians like me exist, and I’m not certain about a whole lot of words either. “I’m like my brother in a way. He has no attraction to ehm, women, I have no attraction to men. He is attracted to them, I am attracted to women.”

Is it me or does it almost look like he is relieved? “But, aren’t women only ever interested in men? How else would they have children?”

That comment hurts, and my fear recedes, making place for anger. “We are human beings, even if many men think otherwise. There is more to me than being a breeding mare, I can think, I have ambitions and desires. Perhaps my feelings are unnatural, but then so are yours.”

If only I still had the useless knife, that might have helped. At least with the anger inside of me, if not to make my point. Renly looks surprised, and I continue: “Please, I know that you only married me for the support of my family to gain the throne. I can help you with that, if you let me. And no one will ever have to know our secrets.”

“But the consummation?”, he asks, incredulously, “how about children?”

“There is no need for that. We can pretend that we, ehm, well, that we did it.”, I reply, desperate to convince him.

“And children? An heir?”

I think for a few moments. I know that all this heir-stuff is important, but there has to be a solution: “Can’t you, ehm, adopt someone? Name someone your heir?”, suddenly I recall a bit of history, I don’t want to end up as one of the wives of Henry VIII, “They might put pressure on us, but they won’t be able to do much. We will have the strength of the realm behind us, and, ehm, we can always pretend to have tried.”

He starts to smile, leaning backwards and slurs: “That sounds perfect”

I try to think of something more to say, but he just falls the last bit backwards, seemingly asleep. It happened to me a few times when I had a bit too much to drink, but this is far more awkward than getting drunk with a date. Whatever happens, I’m not going to share my bed with him. I look around, I don’t feel tired yet, but I want to think. I still hear the mob outside, still shouting their encouragements. Somehow there is no other furniture in the room, while I can recall there being some just this morning. Of course, they must have removed it to force us to sleep together. But that’s not going to happen. 

I sit down on the ground, on he soft carpet. I have to think, even while tears stream from my eyes again. I sob softly, I don't want any of those pigs to hear, to know that they managed to hurt me.


End file.
